Saturday, April 25, 2015

Today
I’m shining the spotlight on a pretty extraordinary book by a
friend of mine, which just came out yesterday. As it happens, I
edited this collection of erotica, because I think Daddy X has a
unique voice that deserved to be heard.

A
warning though—his work
will not be to everyone’s tastes. It’s extremely raunchy and
somewhat messy. But then, sex is, isn’t it? I find that his comic
sense and open-mindedness balance all the graphic descriptions. For
the most part, the stories in this book wouldn’t be considered
romance, but almost all his characters have happy endings.

If
you’re looking for something sexy and very different, consider
picking up a copy of this book.

Blurb

“… the
only people who really know (the Edge) are the ones who have gone
over.”

–Hunter
S. Thompson, Gonzo journalist.

Take
a ride with Daddy over the edge. You won’t forget the distinctively
drawn (and extremely horny) characters you’ll meet between these
pages.

An
eighteen year old carnival hand nurses a crush for his gorgeous blond
employer. A voyeur and his exhibitionist girlfriend find a window to
peek through. A woman awaits her man while crouched naked on the
floor, rear end pointed toward the door. An attempted rape is
thwarted. A spy bites the dust. A man dates and mates with a
fifty-foot woman.

Mood
and a sense of atmosphere bring it all to life in these twenty one
gems of erotic excess.

Excerpt
(from “Sex Crimes”)

Fred
shouldn’t have followed that young girl. Not up the stairs of the
bus. It wasn’t even the line he should have taken home. He tried to
look up her skirt. A short denim skirt. Wasn’t his blonde in the
window enough of a gamble? Was she not going to be enough for Fred
after all?

He
couldn’t screw it up, not now, his latest offence just settled a
month earlier in court. Because of his new temp job at the bank, the
cops had let him go again, on probation, but if there would be
another incident, he’d wind up in jail. A sex offender is not
treated well in the joint. No, he shouldn’t have followed this one
at all. But she looked so cute.

Shouldn’t
one fantasy at a time be enough for Fred? He already had the horny
lady in the window, even if she didn’t know he was hiding in the
bushes. He had a lot to learn about women. Why did this young thing
intrigue Fred so?

He
shouldn’t have sat across from her either, but there they were, the
last two empty seats on the bus, facing one another on opposite
benches, the wide aisle between. He could almost sneak a peek under
the stiff blue fabric when the standing passengers shuffled around.
Her legs were bare, except for the short white socks and sneakers.
Such smooth skin on the inside of the young girl’s thighs. A short
halter top. Some few light freckles sprinkled between her breasts.

Fred
stared out the window, trying to imagine his blonde, to distract
himself. He sweated with nerves. Did the young girl wear underwear?
Panties? There was certainly nothing at all under the skimpy halter.
Thin blue veins visible, just beneath the translucent surface. Such
tender skin along her ribs. So much younger than the woman he watched
from the yard.

The
girl swiveled her torso to look out the long window behind her. Fred
could see inside her twisted top. Was that a nipple, or pink aureole?
Lots of white skin. The perfect little ‘Q’ of her bellybutton.
The young thing swept back her short black bangs with a flair. A
flair meant for him, Fred hoped.

No,
no. This couldn’t happen. He couldn’t possibly approach her, not
so soon after the last complaint.

With
the help of a public defender, Fred had claimed that he was just
urinating. An emergency, a need impossible to ignore. How was Fred to
know someone had been watching?

A
young, female someone did see. The prosecutor had maintained that
Fred had been exposing himself.

But
this one seemed to be flirting with him, opening and closing her pale
legs, bringing back intense images of the recent night’s escapades.
A nervous smile pursed the girl’s lips. But you never know, do you?
Not when your imagination is going wild. Fred has misconstrued things
like that before. But this girl seemed so outgoing...

Even
though he’d been a juvenile at the time, his first offence still
remained on his permanent record. Sex crimes don’t go away. Fred
had thought the same thing that time too, that time on his paper
route. He’d thought the young girl wanted him. He knew he was
mistaken when the mother called the cops. He’d thought the daughter
had wanted to give him a tip, so he unzipped his fly and hauled it
out.

Yes,
Fred was always thinking things like that. It was just because he was
lonely, he told himself. Women don’t really want a guy who shows
her his dick before they even exchange names.

Be
a real man, Fred. Such a sneak.

But
this one seemed different. She made eye contact whenever he looked
her way. Or so it seemed to Fred.

She
smiled, a shifty, come-on smile, so obviously uncomfortable. Surely
she wasn’t used to that kind of thing.

The
girl’s limpid stare made Fred’s cock stand hard. Sore, confined
like it was in the tight jeans. Maybe he could just get some little
relief if he took it out. The bus was crowded. Nobody would notice,
though. Not if he kept the newspaper on his lap.

Oh
God, he shouldn’t be doing such a thing. Shouldn’t think that
way. But she moved so, shifting her ass in place. Her skirt had
ridden up in back. Fred imagined her rubbing her little bottom on the
hard surface of the bench.

She
grinned at him, a self-conscious, enticing affectation.

At
least it seemed like she was teasing him. He wondered if her pussy
was wet. Maybe itchy. Maybe an itch Fred could scratch? He dared not
ask, even though this one looked of legal age. Was there a smear on
the seat beneath her? He decided he’d investigate if she exited
before he did. Perhaps he’d touch the yellow plastic where she sat.
If he found it slippery, he’d probably sniff it too. He thought
that this could be better than the blonde after all.

Fred
watched his last transfer stop go by. He didn’t want the ride to
end. His cock got longer, harder too. He stroked it under the pile of
papers, hoping nobody could tell what he was doing. Except the girl,
of course. It wouldn’t be so bad if she saw, now, would it? Maybe
he was just what she was looking for. Maybe, just maybe, this was the
one for Fred.

The
crowd began thinning out. More people exited the bus than got aboard
at each stop. What would Fred do if left by himself with this sweet
thing? Would he do something untoward? Maybe he’d be her Prince
Charming. Maybe he’d show it off. If they were left all alone.

He survived the
40’s, 50’s, 60’s, 70’s, 80’s, 90’s, and George W. Bush.
He maintained an (almost) steady trajectory through Catholic school,
a paper route, muskrat trapping, a steel mill, Bucks County, the
Haight Ashbury, North Beach, the SF bar business, drug addiction,
alcoholism, a stroke, hep C, cancer, a liver transplant, a year of
chemo, a stickup at his art gallery while tied to a desk (not as cool
as it sounds), a triple bypass, heart attack…and George W. Bush.

Now he’s old, and
it’s time to get dirty.

He’s been with
Momma X (greatest editor on earth) for fifty years, but she thinks
his stuff is too skievy to deal with. They live in northern
California with a ninety pound lop-eared hound (17” wingspan) and
two cats. Daddy is also published in anthologies by Naughty Nights
Press, House of Erotica and most recently in Cleis Press’ Best
Bondage 2015.